HP One-Shot Gallery
by Cillit Bang Bang
Summary: Short pieces that were fun to write, but don't really suffice as a basis for full, multi-chapter stories.
1. Commiseration

_The Ministry Six are heroes, but some people's fortunes decline in their wake. Two of them, disgraced and facing possible unemployment, commiserate each other's misfortune with some Ogden's._

**Commiseration**

The redhead shot a depressed look at the glass in front of him. "When did it all go wrong...?"

Next to him, a squat, violently pink woman who gave everyone who looked at her an oddly amphibian vibe, sighed. "I don't know..."

The redhead, presently, but not very likely to remain so Junior Assistant to the Greatest Minister of Magic of All Times, Cornelius Fudge, shook his head. "Everything was going so well..."

"I had power!" the woman, herself in the now rather precarious position of Senior Undersecretary of the Greatest Minister of Magic of All Times, Cornelius Fudge, almost shrieked, albeit with a somewhat uneven voice - the bottle in front of the pair was showing unfortunate signs of emptying.

Which was yet another reason for the woman's sour mood. "Would you, Weatherby?"

The redhead pulled out his wand, waved it at the bottle, and watched it refilling about halfway before it stopped. He muttered a few choice words he suspected his mother would've given him a thorough mouth washing for, his status as a legal adult notwithstanding, but decided that he just didn't care and tucked his wand away while shooting the uncooperative bottle a hateful glare.

"My loyalty has always been unwavering!" the amphibian continued to shriek, waving her glass around and spilling Ogden's on her companion's cloak.

"How could he be right? His career's always been in a dead end. He's never been right before..." the redhead muttered sullenly while contemplating the single malt swirling in his glass before taking another sip.

"If only it weren't for those meddling kids!" the amphibian spat, entertaining fantasies of actually finishing her _Cruciatus_ on the most insufferable brat of them all. They made her feel all warm and glowy inside. And a bit tingly in her feminine parts, come to think of it.

"Too right you are..." His useless, layabout excuse for a brother was now _famous_ and a _hero_. His father had been _promoted_, his wage now vastly outstripping Percy's. And that insufferable Potter boy who'd dragged his little brother down and into trouble _every year_ since they'd met, who'd had the unconditional support of the Greatest Minister of Magic of All Times, Cornelius Fudge, for four years straight, only to reward the Minister's loyalty by talking to the media behind the GREMMAT's back, by spreading... Well, not _lies_ as such, but _rumours_... _Dangerous_ rumours... Well, he was once again the media's darling, while the GREMMAT had to endure the public's ire. Such was the reward for six years of loyal service.

And he? He who'd gotten _all_ the O.W.L.s and had done a formidable impression of a Slytherin (Or a Hufflepuff? No... Percy quickly banished _that_ thought) to rise in the Ministry for two years straight? He was about to be cast away.

He glanced sideways at the woman sitting and drinking by his side, and sighed. Of course. How could he have forgotten. His older brother - the one he'd always suspected was playing for the other team, what with his long hair and earring - was engaged to a _fucking Veela_ while he was stuck with... With Trevor's mum. Obviously.

It was all so unfair.

The pair of them looked at the once again empty bottle, then at their once again full glasses, and emptied the latter in a fashion that would've made the redhead's younger twin brothers - who, of course, were _also_ earning more money in a week than Percy did in a month. And they hadn't even taken their bloody N.E.W.T.s - proud.

Then the pair shot the barkeep a look. "Tom?"

Tom didn't even look up from polishing one of his glasses. "Your usual room's free, folks."

The redhead and the amphibian gave silent nods and walked upstairs. Tom shook his head.

Hopefully the lady would croak a little less for once. It was bloody impossible to get some sleep when those two were staying for the night.

* * *

**A/N:** Originally posted on Spacebattles as an omake of sorts to Andrew Joshua Talon's _Biting the Hand That Feeds You _(Also found here), or rather its sequel, _The Hand Bites Back_. This version is edited to fit the usual canon rather than the latter's, ah... Alternative timeline, and also fixed some other stuff.


	2. Grog

_Hermione's first ever friend at Hogwarts turned out to be a little... Unusual._

**Grog**

Ten points each richer, Harry and Ron returned to the girls' loo they'd locked the troll in with McGonagall and Snape in tow, already hearing the troll grunting inside. McGonagall unlocked the door and stepped into the lavatory... Only to freeze.

The troll was sitting on the floor next to the sinks, and McGonagall's brightest – if a little isolated – first year Gryffindor girl was sitting right next to it, a tiny hand resting on the troll's enormous knees. "-but really, you should think about forming a union – oh, hello Professor!"

It was a credit to McGonagall's ability to maintain her composure that she didn't remain speechless for more than maybe five seconds. "Miss Granger?" she eventually managed to ask. "What are you-"

"Oh, I've missed the feast, haven't I? My apologies-" she looked down at her feet for a moment before continuing. "But I was a little... Upset-" she glared at Ron, who was peeking at her and the troll from behind Professor Snape. "-and needed some time alone. And when Grog came in-"

"Grog?" McGonagall asked faintly.

"Oh, I didn't introduce you, did I? How rude of me! I apologise, Professor." Hermione stood up and made an elaborate gesture indicating the troll. "Professor McGonagall, this is Grog," she said. "And Grog, this is Professor McGonagall." She beamed at them both, though only Grog was beaming back at Hermione, who was already talking again, as was her wont. "I've of course memorised _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, so of course I knew trolls often work as security and even learned a bit of Trollish – I thought it might come in handy –, though I'm surprised we didn't see any of Hogwarts' security trolls until now."

"Hogwarts doesn't _have_ security trolls, Miss Granger," Snape cut in at this point.

Hermione blinked. "Well, I'm pretty sure it has at least one." She nodded in Grog's direction. "Anyway, it was kind of boring to just sit here and feel sorry for myself, and Grog didn't really have anything in particular to do, so we started to chat."

"Herrrrmeeeoooneee nooooceeee!" Grog said, or rather shouted at this point, banging his giant club on the floor and leaving a sizable crater.

Hermione patted Grog's knee. "Thank you, Grog. So... That's pretty much it, really," she finished, once again addressing her Professors.

"I... See." McGonagall said after a few more moments of contemplation than were strictly necessary. "Nonetheless, I'm afraid that Hogwarts does not employ security trolls, and Mr... Grog... will have to leave."

"No!" Hermione shouted, slinging her arms around Grog's neck - or trying to, anyway. It was a big neck -, while the troll bashed another crater into the bathroom's floor to express his support for Hermione. "He's my best friend! And he likes me, too! A lot better than the strange man who ordered him to walk through the corridors without paying him!"

Snape's eyebrows rose up to his hairline upon receiving this piece of information, while the recently arrived Quirrell - who stood in everyone's back - choose this moment to quietly slink away rather than making a show of fainting again. Sure, he'd memory charmed the troll sufficiently to make identification impossible, but... Better safe than sorry.

"And besides," Hermione continued, "security trolls are very poorly paid, so I'm sure Hogwarts could afford to hire him." She actually looked a little angry for a moment. She and Grog had gone over mountain troll pay rates in considerable detail, and Hermione had been quite shocked by the degree of exploitation trolls were suffering from – as it turned out, trolls were usually in an excellent position to negotiate by way of clubbing, but they tended to forsake proper payment in favour of pig carcasses.

"Afford, maybe-"

"- or if you don't, I will!"

And so, Grog arrived at Hogwarts. Grog and Hermione quickly became inseparable, Ron Weasley's behaviour towards the bright first year rapidly improved, Draco Malfoy learned valuable lessons about keeping his mouth shut, and several months later, Hermione Granger, Marcus Flint and Grog received an award for their furthering of inter-house cooperation as Grog's budding friendship with the Slytherin Quidditch captain tore down the traditional barriers between Slytherins, Gryffindors, Muggle-borns and Purebloods alike.

* * *

**A/N:** Kind of random, edited from the Spacebattles version


	3. House Guests

_The Dursleys had good reasons to fear magic._

**House Guests**

The tall, scaly and vaguely greenish-tinted man looked down at Dudley, who, unsurprisingly, chose this precise moment to soil himself. "Interesting..." the man... No, _creature_ said, one of his grotesquely elongated fingers tracing over Dudley's cheeks and chin. "You've... Talents. The right spirit when it comes to treating your inferiors."

Dudley, whose face had turned the colour of freshly fallen snow, declined to answer.

"If it weren't for your lack of magic, you'd make a fine Death Eater indeed. You remind me of Crabbe, actually..." the man... _Creature_ continued. "How unfortunate that you should be nothing more than a Muggle... A mere toy to be used and discarded."

That was an analogy Dudley could understand. It did nothing to reassure him of his continued survival, though. "Ah... Uh..."

The grotesque face looking down at the boy smirked, or tried to do so as much as a quasi-reptilian facial setup could, anyway. "Do not worry... The magic the old fool has set up around your home prevents anyone magical from harming you, your mother or, most unfortunately, your cousin... I'm only here because I'm presently disinclined to do so..." The face paused, its fingers lifting up Dudley's chin to look into the boy's eyes. "Until your cousin turns seventeen. You still have almost a year to live, little Muggle."

Finally the creature turned around, and sat down opposite Dudley's ashen-faced father. "For now, little Dudley, I think you should change... The smell of urine isn't conductive to a pleasant evening, and we wouldn't want to spoil your cousin's surprise, would we?" Another pause, and Dudley was _certain_ he heard the creature _hissing_ to the enormous snake that'd wrapped itself around his father's equally enormous torso. "And don't forget, you and your mother may be protected by Dumbledore's magic... Your father on the other hand..." The creature paused, slit pupils focussing on the Dursley's pride and joy. "So be a good little boy and do as you're told..."

* * *

**A/N: **Another omake of sorts for Andrew Joshua Talon's _Biting the Hand That Feeds You_, though this one was technically triggered by _yet another _(Also positively brilliant) omake written by Son of the Veterinarian and a comment by rajvik_wolfboy. Originally on Spacebattles.


	4. The Tale of the Three Brothers

_Ever wondered how Ignotus' invisibility cloak was supposed to protect him from death?_

**The Tale of the Three Brothers**

Reluctantly, Death told Ignotus the secret to immortality.

On the first night after receiving their gifts, Ignotus hid himself under his cloak and quietly followed his oldest brother, Antioch, to the inn, where he performed the ritual as Death had instructed. He took his brother's life in exchange for his own and, sprinkled with Antioch's blood, he tore his soul asunder, hiding one half of it in his cloak.

Ignotus continued to live safely, knowing that the stone Death had gifted Cadmus with would bring him back should anything ever happen to him. Cadmus however, was overcome with grief over what his brother had done, and choose to end his life.

However, Cadmus daughter, who'd married Morven Gaunt, inherited the stone, and swore an oath that she, and her descendants, would bring back the last Peverell whenever the need arose, while Ignotus' own descendants would inherit his cloak as, unlike any others like it, it was now imbued with a soul, and therefore never lost its power.

Having his soul anchored to the mortal realm did not protect Ignotus from aging, and so he died many times. Each time, the Gaunts would use the stone's power to resurrect him, and Ignotus would assume a new name. He lived many lives, serving as Headmaster of Hogwarts, as Minister for Magic, he even ruled as a Dark Lord, striking fear into the hearts of his enemies. Sometimes, he'd choose a quiet life, siring children and tending to his garden.

But as times wore on, the memories of too many lifetimes took their toll on Ignotus while at the same time, the Gaunt family fell from grace, greatness turning into madness. The rituals that'd once ensured Ignotus' return became hazardous and prone to failure.

Eventually, Ignotus lost his mind, his very identity, and the hallows were lost to history. Yet the desire to once again acquire the hallows remained with him, memories bubbling in his subconscious and driving him to search for them in a never-ending quest.

~ The Tale of the Three Brothers as told by Unspeakable Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood alias Ignotus Peverell; 2001

* * *

**A/N:** Not exactly fitting the humour/ parody tags, I suppose, but well, they're only indicating the majority, anyway. Heavily edited version, the vastly inferior original is on Spacebattles.


	5. The First Horcrux

_Tom Riddle wasn't particularly imaginative. Almost everything he did had a precedent._

**The First Horcrux**

Tom stood over Myrtle's dead body, right hand carelessly petting his basilisk, who kept its eyes closed and just... _Purred_ in Parseltongue.

He remained this way for several minutes, drinking in the sight... Celebrating his triumph in silence.

Memories returned to him. Of the Pastor, clad all in black, visiting the orphanage. Tom had to admit, the dressing style appealed to him. Maybe add a mask to it for good measure...

_If you don't pray for forgiveness, your immortal soul will be condemned to hell when you die, Tom! These..._ Things _you do aren't good! Miracles are the domain of our Lord!_

_I do not intend to die, father._

_Everyone dies, Tom. It is to be human. Only our souls are immortal._

_I do not believe in souls, father._

His Pastor had looked... Shocked when Tom had said this, and in hindsight, the man had had a point.

It pained Tom to admit this, but even though they were painfully ignorant about what to do with them, sometimes even Muggles could've a basic grasp of magical concepts.

And it'd come in rather handily, hadn't it? If only to prove a point.

No... Tom wasn't concerned about his immortal soul. Not anymore.

He'd never leave this world. He'd make it _his_ world. Just like...

And at this point, Tom couldn't help but smirk. Jesus had been a wise man indeed. Not the son of God, perhaps. But his resurrection, mere centuries after Herpo had developed the theories surrounding Horcruxes... Not to mention that he was a direct descendant of the Parselmouth Eve.

Tom was Slytherin enough to connect the dots.

Even though they were divided by two thousand years of history, Tom couldn't help but feel a certain bond with Jesus of Nazareth. A certain fondness towards the man. He wondered whether his Pastor would've appreciated the irony. The atheist Tom Riddle, looking up to Jesus, almost as much as to Salazar Slytherin himself!

Of course, in the end, even Jesus had been a fool. Overcome with grief, with _regret_ – an emotion Tom had long since given up trying to understand –, he'd sacrificed his immortality a mere forty days after his resurrection. Had willingly _chosen_ death and left his disciples to complete his great work.

Tom respected Jesus, but he would never make such an elementary mistake. He, too, was recruiting disciples. He, too, was looking for his twelve apostles... But he'd not leave them behind.

He'd lead them.

Maybe Abraxas Malfoy would be his Paul.

**Return,** he hissed at his Basilisk. **I'll call for you again, soon.**

* * *

**A/N:** Original on Spacebattles. The mythology matches up _far_ too well not to make this connection. Though admittedly, Riddle is also prone to misinterpretations, if his first meeting with Dumbledore is anything to go by.


	6. Hermione's Revenge

_Hell has no fury like a woman scorned._

**Hermione's Revenge**

Hermione thrust the flask into Harry's shaking hands, though her eyes never stopped looking at her dying Professor. She saw Harry taking Snape's memories, saw the blood seeping from the twin wounds in Snape's neck that Nagini's bite had left. She saw Snape grasping for Harry's robes.

"Look... at... me..."

Snape's hand thudded to the floor, and he moved no more.

Hermione hadn't shed a single tear, hadn't shown the slightest emotion.

She was the last to leave the Shrieking Shack, and only then, unseen by her friends, did a hint of a smirk appear on her face.

They'd known they'd have to take out Nagini for a year. How foolish would it have been for them, for _her_ to not be prepared for the great serpent's bite? The Order and St Mungo's had successfully saved Arthur Weasley's life after he'd been bitten by the snake, and Hermione had made very sure indeed that she'd be able to save Harry's and Ron's lives as well, should the worst happen.

Safely tucked away inside her beaded handbag, the antidote and the blood-replenishing potions were waiting, ready to save lives.

_So much for 'Not seeing the difference' after Malfoy cursed me with a densaugeo._

* * *

**A/N:** You know it to be true~


	7. Two of a Kind

_Voldemort, too, had some... 'Interesting' acquaintances..._

**Two of a Kind**

Voldemort looked around, taking in the sight of the large, well-kept mansion and the surrounding property. In the distance, a few blonde children were laughing and playing with a horse... He shivered.

Disgusting. They were probably Muggles, too.

He rang, and a moment later, the door opened, revealing a middle-aged woman, eyeing him warily. "Sim?"

"I wish to speak Mr Hitler," Voldemort said smoothly. At least, he was pretty sure the man was still alive after capturing some of Flamel's elixir of life stores in 1940. If the _Prophet_ of the time could be trusted, Grindelwald had been pretty mad about the 'Jumped-up pseudo-wizard' beating him to the price.

The woman's eyes went wide. "Mas senhor-"

Voldemort rolled his eyes and pointed his wand at the woman. "Imperio."

The woman obediently stepped aside, and Voldemort entered. The house was clean, there were some paintings adorning the walls - impressions of victorious German battles throughout history and the odd dog -, and through a door, he could see a... Surprisingly not particularly old-looking man lounging on an expensive-looking armchair. Merlin, he _really_ wished he'd gotten his hands on the philosopher's stone. The thing clearly worked miracles.

Voldemort entered. "Mr Hitler, I presume?"

Hitler looked up from the newspaper he was holding. "Ja?"

Voldemort let out a long-suffering sigh. He'd never specialised in languages, and contrary to popular belief, Durmstrang's dark arts textbooks were in _Bulgarian_ \- the only foreign language he spoke, other than Norse (And what a waste of time had ancient runes turned out to be...). "I am Lord Voldemort," he said, carefully enunciating every word.

"Ah, yes... I've heard of you."

Well, at least Hitler had bothered to learn English at some point during the last fifty years. Figures that an incognito exile in Brazil was good for _something_, at least.

Voldemort didn't bother to wait for an invitation, and sat down on one of the comfy armchairs himself. "I've recently run into a problem with certain... _Unworthy_ individuals, and I was wondering whether you'd like to have another shot at, ah... Britain."

For a few moments, Hitler said nothing.

"I'm just an old man... What do you have to offer that'd make this matter... Interesting?"

Voldemort's snake-like face broke into something approximating a grin. "I understand that you captured some documents detailing the procedure on the 10th of November, 1938, but never had access to sufficiently skilled wizards to put the project in practice."

Hitler's eyebrows rose. "Golems?"

"A golem suit. A _giant_ golem suit. And London."

Hitler looked thoughtful. "Little Fritz likes these silly shows from Japan... Neue Genesis Evangelien or some such thing. I only ever watch them when I can't get him to move off the TV, but... Maybe there is something to them, after all."

Voldemort's snake-like grin intensified. "It shall be completed in a month."

Hitler nodded. "Very well. Once it is complete, I'd like to meet again. Not here, though. In Berchtesgaden. There is a cave in the nearby alps that contains some artefacts you might find... Useful."

* * *

**A/N:** For the record, I'm basically picturing Spriggan-Hitler here. Capable-of-resisting-magic, experience-with-and-possession-of-numerous-magical-artefacts, excellent-physical-shape, soul-enclosed-in-the-holy-grail-to-ensure-resurrection Hitler.

... Why, yes. Spriggan-Hitler basically had his own Horcrux.


	8. Coward

_Peter Pettigrew. Coward. Hanger-on. Pathetic. A rat. But sometimes, being a rat is exactly what is needed..._

**Coward**

"Wormtail," the tall, robed figure hissed, and Peter could almost feel his Master's disgust at there not being any 'S'es to needlessly draw out. "It is time."

Peter was kneeling, eyes downcast, his body shivering. "Yes, my Lord..." He held out his hand, handed over the little slip of paper.

A second passed, and then the Fidelius' protection was no more.

"Very well..." the Dark Lord spoke again, sounding oddly satisfied now. "You've served me well, Wormtail... Wait here. This matter shall be solved... Soon."

There was a pop, and then Voldemort was gone.

Peter waited for a moment before rising. Looking around... There was no-one else there.

Another pop, and he was gone, too.

* * *

"MONSTER!" Sirius shouted, and launched a barrage of blasting curses in Voldemort's direction, only for them to be almost effortlessly deflected against one of the Potter cottage's crumbling walls.

Voldemort gave a high-pitched laugh. A twitch of his wand, and Remus' entrail-expelling curse dispersed harmlessly against a piece of broken furniture. "To think, the scion of the Black family - you had such a bright future, and yet, you're just throwing it away, fruitlessly... Without a cause."

"You die tonight-" the werewolf spat out, a statement that caused little more than a smirk in Voldemort's distorted facial features.

"Two down, two to go... No, I don't think so, halfbreed..." he drawled, and cast a killing curse. Remus barely managed to safe himself behind a levitating cupboard door, which exploded as the curse struck it.

Among the ruins of the once-pleasant cottage, among the two corpses already lying there, a rat scurried for cover.

Peter had never been brave, he knew that. He had nowhere near the talent of his friends, he knew that, too. He watched Sirius crash against a still halfway-standing wall and probably breaking a few ribs in the process, and couldn't help but remember what the Hat had said, all those years ago... That in truth, he belonged in Slytherin.

Peter had refused.

Sirius twitched, and was saved from the Dark Lord's killing curse by a series of dinner plates Remus launched in its path. The werewolf paid for it, his robes, his very flesh suddenly on fire.

The Dark Lord smirked, and turned his attention back to Sirius, who looked up at him, trying, yet failing to raise his wand. "I think your mother will appreciate this, Black... _Crucio!_"

The rat whimpered.

The Hat had been right, of course. He'd never have stood a chance in this fight. If the Dark Lord could win against all the _talented_ Gryffindors of his year... Peter would simply have been the first to fall. Courage, nobility, bravery... Traits he respected, admired... But also traits he knew would kill him if he lived by them.

He was the rat. He had to fight like a rat.

He was no longer a rat, but he still fought like one.

Two words. Unforgivable. The Dark Lord distracted, too pleased with the _Cruciatus_ he'd cast on Sirius to pay attention to what was going on behind his back.

The snake fell.

* * *

James, Sirius and Remus stared disbelievingly at their old friend's exposed forearm. Peter whimpered.

"... Why?!" James finally exclaimed.

"He... He came for me and... I didn't have a choice!"

"So you've been spying on us?!" Sirius roared, wand already raised, ready to cast... Whatever Black children learned to cast in anger. Peter didn't look forward to it.

"On... Both..." Peter whispered. "I came to Dumbledore immediately after."

Remus frowned. "You're telling us that you could hide your true allegiance from _Him_?" he asked disbelievingly.

Peter shook his head. "It... It wouldn't work that way. But if I... If I'm mostly honest, it is possible... He senses that I'm afraid and just want to live... Would do everything to live... And what I tell him about us... About the Order, it is true."

"You killed them..." James whispered. Peter nodded.

Up until now, Lily hadn't said anything, had merely looked thoughtful. Now, moments before her husband could cast a _Cruciatus_ on his one-time friend, she finally raised her voice. "You want this to end, don't you?"

Peter nodded again.

"So do I," Lily said, all eyes on her. "You're saying the Dark Lord will not notice anything if you tell the truth? Just... Omit some details?"

Another nod.

"Right... Here is what we'll do."

* * *

"I still think this is insane," James muttered as he waited, wand in hand. It was Hallowe'en, and the four of them - him, Lily, Remus and Sirius - were waiting anxiously.

"We can't raise Harry in a prison," Lily countered. "And he's safe with Mary, tonight."

"I wish we were, too," Remus said, eliciting a small chuckle from Sirius, who was about to say something about Lily's old dormmate's excellent cookies when the front door exploded in a shower of shrapnel.

"Couldn't even knock," Sirius muttered when he sent the first bone-breaker flying.

* * *

"Wha' happened?" Hagrid asked, visibly distressed, as he walked through the ruins of the Potter cottage, where Sirius, Remus and Peter were waiting, huddled together.

None of them said a thing, and Hagrid's eyes followed their own stares towards the two corpses lying on the floor, eyes peacefully closed. "Oh no-"

"They died as heroes," Remus said, his voice thin. "And... We knew not all of us would make it, but..."

Hagrrid threw him a questioning look, and Remus pointed in the direction of the third corpse, lying askew amidst the cottage's blasted ruins.

"Merlin's beard-"

"It was Wormtail," Sirius said hoarsely.

Hagrid looked at Peter, who shook his head. "Not... Like you're imagining. I'm... Weak."

"A coward," Sirius added.

"Can't argue with the results, though," Lupin said, before once again looking at the still bodies of James and Lily. "Although I'd prefer it if it'd gone differently..."


	9. A Different Solution

_Hermione was, maybe, just a tiny bit less squeamish than one might've expected..._

**A Different Solution**

And taking a deep breath, she cried, "Crucio!"

Hermione said nothing, watching the scene, Harry's twitching body from behind Millicent Bulstrode's enormous bulk for one second. Two... Three.

Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

"Right, what now?" Ginny asked, holding Umbridge's wand in her hand with visible disgust, one of her heels firmly planted on one of Malfoy's palms.

"We save Sirius!" Harry cried.

Hermione reached for some floo powder. "I'm sure the DMLE will be happy to send a few Aurors down after we deliver our _Inquisitor_-" she spat out the word, "-to them. Complete with her wand. Which was used to cast an unforgivable curse."

* * *

Director Bones frowned. "Those are some very serious accusations, Miss Granger."

"HE DID IT!" Umbridge shouted at her one-time subordinate. "THROW HIM INTO AZKABAN AT ONCE!"

Director Bones held up her hand, her expression serious. "It's a valid suggestion. Can you prove that you haven't taken Madam Umbridge's wand and cast the curse yourself?"

"We're all willing to take Veritaserum, of course," Hermione said.

Harry blinked. "We are?"

"Yes we are," Hermione said with a long-suffering sigh, and as an afterthought, added "As long as Madam Umbridge isn't present in the same room, that is."

Director Bones' eyebrows rose. "Veritaserum isn't perfect, but if all six of you were to corroborate the story under it, it'd certainly help your credibility... Madam Umbridge, are you willing to give testimony under Veritaserum, too?"

For a moment, Umbridge looked flustered, though she overcame it quickly enough. "I'LL HAVE YOU SACKED! FUDGE WILL- YOU CANNOT TREAT ME LIKE THIS! THEY'RE GUILTY!"

Director Bones frowned. "We'll see. Shacklebolt, Dawlish, if you'd accompany Madam Umbridge to the waiting room until we're done with this interrogation?"

The two Aurors nodded. "Certainly, Director."

* * *

Fudge stormed into the office, his face red with exertion and anger. "Madam Bones! I just heard! You cannot possibly...! This is...! How could you?! This will be your last-!"

"Ah, Minister. I was about to call for you," Director Bones answered cooly. "We've just finished with the interrogation. Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood, as well as Mr Weasley, Mr Longbottom and Mr Potter have all corroborated the exact same sequence of events-"

"Lying children-" Fudge shouted. "I thought you'd know this by now!"

"Under Veritaserum," Director Bones said, and the Minister's face instantaneously lost all colour. "Veritaserum is not, of course, perfect, but with six identical results, acquired in six separate interrogations, the probability of failure is minimal."

"They might be under the antidote-" Fudge said, a little bit of colour returning to his face.

Director Bones nodded. "Entirely possible. Which is why all six students have agreed to repeat the interrogation under Veritaserum in an hour, at which point any antidote they took before flooing here would no longer be effective. Until then, they're watched by two of our finest aurors."

Fudge's face lost its colour again, and Director Bones continued. "Of course, it'd help if Madam Umbridge were to submit to questioning under Veritaserum herself, so as to clear up any misconceptions that could end up reflecting poorly upon yourself-"

"Myself?" asked Fudge, incredulously. "What do you mean?"

Director Bones sighed. "The Minister's Senior Undersecretary using an unforgivable curse on a student - the boy-who-lived, no less - after being given almost total control over Hogwarts through a variety of Ministerial Decrees would reflect poorly upon you, and the next election will be held in a year..."

Fudge fainted.

* * *

Shacklebolt entered the room the six students were waiting in, and subtly nodded in Harry's direction, who immediately sighed with relief. "Right... I guess you were right, Hermione..."

Hermione smiled. "Don't worry. Your falling for His deception _did_ take care of Umbridge... And will take care of Fudge."

"Nobody's complaining," Ron said, grinning.

All in all, it'd been a productive few hours.

* * *

**A/N:** Of course, Voldemort's presence does thus remain unconfirmed for the time being, so Hermione might well have made everything worse, but hey.


	10. Peanuts

_Pansy Parkinson was entirely too media savvy for her own good. Or Harry's good, at any rate._

**Peanuts**

Harry hid under his invisibility cloak, slowly creeping closer to the object of his desires, the goal of his dreams.

There, on the grassy ground leading up to the black lake, Pansy Parkinson was kneeling in one of the blue summer dresses she'd recently started to favour over her usual, green robes.

Now or never.

Harry broke into a run. Today... Today was the day. He was the Boy-Who-Lived! He had faced the dark lord several times. He had defeated a basilisk, escaped a werewolf, and was starring in the Triwizard Tournament. No-one would stop him now!

He kicked, and moments later, found himself lying flat on his back.

Pansy was balancing the transfigured football she'd been holding on the tip of her finger, and beamed down at Harry's invisible form. "You should really consider Hufflepuff, Potter. Black and yellow suits you so much better."

* * *

"What I don't get," Hermione said in between glaring angrily at the Slytherin table, "is how she knows about this. Isn't she a pureblood?"

"One of the Muggle-born Slytherins told Pansy that she reminded her of a TV character she knew. Pansy has been modelling herself after that character ever since," Lavender said. Apparently, Gryffindor's chief source of gossip wasn't particularly bothered by quaint things like house boundaries.

"I-" Hermione sighed. "Okay, whatever."

"There are Muggle-born Slytherins?" Ron asked between bites, looking confused. So did Harry.

"Of course. If they think they're better than their parents and friends from Muggle school because they have magic, and know how to cast a hex before their first class, the Hat puts them there," Lavender elaborated. "Like Sally, or Millicent's mum. Though Mrs Bulstrode keeps cursing everyone who mentions her parents, so she's now an honorary Pureblood."

"So they're still gits," Ron said.

Lavender shrugged. "Well, they're Slytherins."

* * *

"But playing piano would be so romantic!" Pansy exclaimed, one hand resting on Draco's lap.

"You do it, then," Draco said, trying to dislodge Pansy's hand from said lap while remaining civil and wondering where his two bodyguards had disappeared to. Sure, they were always there when he came to blows with Potter, but their ability to not be around when the real threats approached was... remarkable.

"I bet you'd play it wonderfully. Your hands are already so soft and aristocratic, almost feminine-"

Draco spotted Theodore smirking out of the corner of his eye. Which was annoying, but not really worth running afoul of whatever disciplinary magic Nott Snr used on and probably taught his son.

The rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team openly pointing and laughing at him on the other hand, _that_ stung.

"-and it's such an intellectual exercise, not like our magical creatures class. It'd be perfect for us."

Dinner was only half-over, but Draco knew that Pansy would never pass on her desserts.

An opportunity to escape. He took it.

Theodore was still smirking when he shot him a look just as he left the great hall, but it was the image of Montague mimicking Draco's 'Sensitive Hands' to the raucous laughter of the upper years that stuck with him.

* * *

**A/N:** It's entirely possible that you've never pictured Pansy Parkinson as Lucy van Pelt. The big question is – why not?


End file.
